by Neil Plakcy
“Would you like a tour of the place after dinner?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“What’s this?” He looks at the bottle in my hand.
“I didn’t feel right coming empty-handed. It’s not much. Hope you like white wine.”
“I do, thank you.” Delroy takes the libation and sets the bottle in the chest of ice with the beer. “We’ll have it with our steaks. Speaking of which, how do you like yours?”
“Well done,” I say.
“I prefer my cow with a little pink inside, so that’s where we differ,” Delroy laughs, as he turns the steaks on the grill.
“I’ve never had it like that before. I’m just so used to eating my steak cooked clean through.”
“You should try medium rare. It’s really good.”
“Medium rare it is, then.” I smile.
“Good boy,” says Delroy. The table is decorated with blue-and-yellow place mats. “Would you mind keeping an eye on the steaks while I go get the salad?”
“Yeah, sure.” I take a whiff of my shirt. Damn. I put too much cologne on.
I look out onto the beach; the thick, white gleam from the moon is gorgeous against the water. “I can’t believe I’m really here,” I say.
“Believe it,” Delroy says, returning with a bowl of salad and salt and pepper shakers. I didn’t realize he heard me.
“So this is what you wake up to every morning?”
“You should see it during the day. This might sound like the worst cliché, but I don’t care. I love taking long walks out here to clear my head, breathe a little.”
“I can see why you love it out here.”
Delroy places the salad and shakers on the table, then lifts the lid off the grill. A fat blanket of smoke evaporates into the cool June air.
“Looks like these are done. We can eat.” Delroy forks the two steaks onto a serving platter and sets them on the dinner table next to the salad.
I sit down and spoon modest portions of the greenery onto both of our plates alongside our steaks as Delroy screws the cork off the wine and pours. This spread beats a TV dinner any day of the week. Delroy sits across from me. Our knees kiss under the table. He raises his glass to make a toast.
“To old friends,” Delroy says.
“To old friends.” We take sips from the wine I brought. It’s good, with a slight sweet aftertaste. “I have a confession to make.”
“Wassup?” Delroy says.
“I wasn’t completely truthful with you last week. I’m not in school anymore.”
“Okay,” Delroy says, poking at his salad with his fork.
“I work part-time at a movie theater. I’ve been there for three years and I hate every inch, crack, and crevice of that place.”
Delroy let loose a loud guffaw, which isn’t what I expected.
“What?”
“Man, that ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. At least you have a job, right?”
“I finished grad school in New York back in 2003.” Delroy looks at me smiling with those happy, puppy-brown eyes. “In journalism?” Delroy asks.
“An MFA in English. Creative writing.”
“Whyjoo lie?” Delroy asks.
“’Cause I didn’t want you to think that I was a loser. My folks are always telling me, ‘All that education and you work at a movie theater?’ So I just make something up that sounds a lot better than saying I work at a movie theater.”
“You shouldn’t be ashamed of what you do and you sure as hell shouldn’t be ashamed of what you have accomplished. I kind of knew about the grad school stuff and you being published.”
“How?” I ask, as I cut into my steak.
“I Googled you. I didn’t think anything would come up, but I was surprised to find all this stuff on you. The books. The poems. I spent like most of the day reading your poems. You definitely have the goods, man. I’m proud of you.”
Did he just say that he was proud of me?
Delroy has said something to me that no one in my family has ever said. I feel myself getting teary-eyed, but I hold back. I’m not about to break down like a punk in front of him. I start to feel a little embarrassed knowing that Delroy has read my work, especially the more erotic stuff.
“So how’s your steak?” Delroy asks.
“I love the spice I’m getting. It’s delicious.”
“Cool. I’m glad you like it,” Delroy says as he pulls a piece of the steak into his mouth from the tip of the fork.
“If I lived out here, I would never leave. I bet it’s a great place to come out and write.” I say.
“Well, I’m glad that you could come out. Other than my son, I don’t do a whole lot of entertaining. It’s beautiful, yeah, but it gets lonely sometimes.”
“So what happened to you after high school?”
“I worked at my dad’s lumber business. Leandra was a receptionist there when I met her. We started to date, got married, and had Kendrick a year later. It was nice for a while, but I started to see this fucked-up side to her after Kendrick was born. I wanted it to work, but the more we tried, the more I felt myself slipping away. Leandra wanted more than what I could give.”
“It’s her loss, losing a good man like you. You have your health, you own your own successful business, you have a son you’re proud of.”
“Yeah, I’m blessed. That boy means the world to me,” says Delroy. “Well, on that note, why don’t we have the rest of our wine on the beach?”
We make our way out onto the white, sandy shore. “Take your shoes off. The sand feels great between your toes.” I kick off my shoes. The beach feels cool under my feet as we stroll. I want to reach out and take his hand, but I’m too scared he’s going to freak out.
“Let’s go for a swim.”
“I don’t have any trunks.”
“Hell, who needs swim trunks?”
I watch as Delroy starts to unbutton his shirt. Holy shit, I thought. “Naked?” I yell.
“Why not? We the only ones out here.”
His sinewy, apple butter-brown physique is beautiful against the backdrop of the night. He starts to undo his jeans.
“Shit, you’re serious.”
Delroy just grins, stepping out of his pants. He’s not wearing any underwear. Before I know anything, I’m looking at two firm ass cheeks, much more chocolaty than the rest of him. Delroy runs toward the water until it comes to his mid-thigh.
“Come on. It feels good.”
“Fuck it,” I say to myself, and start to strip. Before long I’m booty-naked, dick hanging soft in the open air. I rush toward the water to join Delroy. “AHHH, SHIT! COLD! COOOLD! COLD, COLD, COOOOLD!!!” I holler out as soon as the water hits my skin. Delroy starts splashing me. I fight back, shoveling water into his face.
“See, it’s not so bad. I don’t know what you were so afraid of all those years ago on the field trip.”
The two of us stand waist-deep. “You know, the only thing I remember about that day was you.”
“Whatchu mean?” Delroy smiles.
“The way you came up out of the water. It was like you were the only guy there, like everybody else had disappeared. That sounds sappy, I know.”
“Not at all. No one has ever said stuff like that about me.”
“Sorry. It’s weird.”
“No, not at all. I’m flattered, really, thank you.”
Delroy and I are standing close, facing each other. My heart pounds like the water against our bodies. I feel shy about what I just said and want to take the words back and lock them away in me somewhere.
“I’m freezing,” I say.
“Me too. Let’s go back to the beach house. I have some towels upstairs for us to dry off with.” We grab our clothes and head back. I glance for like two seconds at his dick. Delroy’s balls are big and hang low. Unlike me, the cold water has no effect on his well-hung appendage. I’m glad I’m not hard. Talk about embarrassing. I follow Delroy inside. The house is sultry apart from the frigid beach breeze.
His back faces me. I bask in his nakedness as he pulls two towels from a bathroom towel rack.
“That felt good. I needed that,” Delroy says as he dabs at his torso with the towel. I start to get hard every time my eyes wander to his dick. Not now, I think. Go down. Please go down. But there is nothing I can do but stand there hard.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he says.
“That’s cool. I’ll just—finish getting dressed out here.”
“You can if you want.”
“Ummm….”
“I mean you can wait after I’m done. It’s up to you. I just thought, why waste the water?” This on our first date? I hope he doesn’t think I’m easy. Delroy reaches past the plastic shower curtain and turns the knobs. The bathroom quickly starts to fill with steam. Delroy steps in and with my eyes glued to his booty, I follow. The shower is big enough for both of us.
He grabs the bar of deodorant soap from the shower caddy and soaps up his chest before he hands the bar to me. Delroy runs his hands along his stomach and arms, down his legs and thighs. Soapy water trickles from our bodies, off the tips of our dicks. This is really happening. It’s anything but a dream. My dick is bone-hard. I start to run my hands along his chest.
“Turn around. I’ll get your back,” I say. I caress soft, round shoulders, knead muscle all the way to the trench of Delroy’s ass. I slide between his arms, around his stomach, run my fingers up across his nips. He arches his head back. Our lips touch. My dick traces his ass. I take Delroy’s dick in my hand, giving steady jerks, squeezing the head. Delroy switches the water off. “I think we’re clean enough,” he says.
Water streams down our naked brown bodies. We start to dry each other off. My dick aches. I drop to my knees on the vanilla bathroom rug. I take him into my mouth. I can taste the soap on his dick.
“Damn, that feels good.”
Delroy sucks his teeth as I take his dick down my throat. He presses his hand at the back of my head.
This goes on for minutes until I stop. I don’t want Delroy to come yet. We are dry. We move to his bedroom, which is huge and roomy with a sky-high ceiling. He tosses back the covers. I can’t stop looking at his dick. I want Delroy inside me. His lips feel like clouds against mine. Our bodies kiss; our dicks graze. I start sucking his nips like hard chocolate; my tongue tickles one and then the other.
We collapse onto his bed. Delroy’s skin is soft from the soap. Our bodies are warm. I can feel his dick against my inner thigh, our wine-stained tongues in each other’s mouths.
“I’ve wanted to do this all night. I just didn’t want you to think I was too forward,” he says.
“Me too.”
“Hold on,” he says. Delroy gets up and walks over to one of the bedside tables. I know where this is going. Delroy plucks out a column of gold packets and a bottle of lube. I hang playfully off the side of his bed.
“Looks like you’re still hungry,” he says. Armed with the rubbers and oil, Delroy straddles me. He runs his dick along the ball of my chin, the curves of my lips, leaving traces of his juices. I ease my mouth open. I wrap my lips tight around it as I grab hold of his ass. Delroy’s body is electric. I think to slide a finger in. Delroy eases away.
“You want to do the honors?” Delroy asks, handing me one of the rubbers.
I tear open the cellophane wrapping with my teeth. Greasy latex. I’m about to roll it on his dick when he says, “Can you put it on with your mouth?”
That’s so kinky. I place the thick ring of the prophylactic between my lips. Delroy aims his dick up to my mouth as I start to push the latex down his shaft. I keep on until I feel his pubes tickle my nose. I slide off his dick. I position myself on my elbows and knees, and my back arches about as much as a guy my size can manage. I’m nervous, yeah, about getting fucked, but excited to feel him inside me.
“It might be better if you lie on your stomach ’cause you’re so tall.” I start to feel the strain with all the weight. I gotta get my big ass to a gym.
“Okay,” I say.
“I just want you to be comfortable.”
“Either way is cool with me,” I lie.
“This is going to feel cold going in.” I start to feel like a patient in some examining room. I’m ready for whatever. I hear Delroy flip open the top of the bottle and then a slight bite of cool when the lube makes contact with my ass, trickling along the walls of my crack and asshole like liquid candy. The grease feels so slippery in my booty. My dick throbs. I feel Delroy’s finger suddenly. I start to tense up.
“I’ll be gentle,” Delroy says. I believe him. He slides his finger in deeper.
“You’re pretty tight.”
“It’s been a while.” I ball his sheets in my fists.
“You feel that?”
“Yeah, it feels goooood.”
“I’m all the way up to my knuckle.”
“Damn, really?”
“Yeah,” Delroy grins. I arch my ass back a bit as he works my hole.
“Don’t stop,” I plead.
“Yeah, it sounds and feels like you ready.”
I feel like I’m about to burst, I’m so fucking horny. I ease onto my belly. I can feel Delroy’s weight on me. I feel the blunt knob of his dick head slip between my gape. He pushes. I take short, tempered breaths. It slips in like a thief. I unclench the sheets. Delroy starts to fuck me slow.
“Damn. Yeah, that’s good.” Delroy’s kisses are red-hot along my neck, my spine. With every thrust, Delroy slides in deeper. He slides his arms under mine, pinning me down with muscled brawn. I have no choice but to take the deep dicking he’s giving me. This man can fuck.
I can feel Delroy’s thatch against my booty. His thrusts quicken and he grunts like a bull on top of me.
Damn, is this happening? If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.
“Are you okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“That feels nice.”
Delroy’s fuck-work quickens with each thrust. I moan through our kissing. Our southern hearts pound in my ears. My toes flex.
“Stay with me tonight,” he whispers, his hot words in my ear.
“Yes.”
Delroy reaches over my big hips for my dick, his fingers still greasy from the lube. I didn’t know how hungry I was for a good fuck until now. Our bodies are sticky with sweat. I can feel my dick hard under my belly. Our fingers intertwine as Delroy sucks my earlobes.
“Shit yeah,” says Delroy. He’s ready to come. He keeps at me, his fingers pressing forcefully between the grooves of mine, as he holds me hostage with dick up my ass. “Mmm... Such a sweet ass,” he goes on.
“Give it to me!” I say. Suddenly, I can feel him filling me, jets of juices in the rubber, up my ass. Delroy starts to ease out of me. Cool air sweeps across our bodies.
“That was great,” I say. I think he’s done with me now, that he got what he wanted. Delroy falls into me, back into bed. He presses his lips to mine.
“You serious about me staying the night?” I ask.
He wraps his arms around me. “Of course.” We make love twice that night, until we’re exhausted. Delroy looks like an angel when he sleeps. I cuddle up to him, snake my arm around his taut torso. His skin feels like warm syrup. I doze off, joining him in sleep.
FOUR-MAN BEACH VOLLEYBALL
Gregory L. Norris
Balls, big and white, a dozen, a hundred, spilled out of the sky.
Jonny Hutching met them as they sailed into range, pumping his fists, knuckling the volleyballs over the net before a single one reached the sand. In response to the pressure, his own balls threatened to shrivel out of their usual loose state. Cold sweat tickled him unpleasantly along his spine, armpits, and behind his sac. Balls, a thousand, rained down from a cloudless dream-sky the color of comfortable denim. He would miss some; one man, alone against the deluge—it was inevitable.
A voice in Hutch’s thoughts told him that he was no longer the big man on the beach, that for five of the last ten years
he’d worked in a lumberyard for shit wages, talked about behind his back by coworkers and customers alike. That voice took on Cameron Ford’s inflections.
“Fucking loser,” it taunted.
Hutch told it to shut the fuck up, but his mouth refused to cooperate. More balls rained down, their shadows in the day’s blinding glare adding to the confusion, making Hutch’s heart gallop and his nuts shrink. Alone—
Right before Hutch jolted awake in the darkness, his eyes wide, his flesh soaked in sweat, he caught sight of another body, male, moving among the downpour of volleyballs. It wasn’t Cameron. He wasn’t alone, not anymore.
A shout clawed its way up his throat. At the last instant, recognition dawned and Hutch clamped his teeth together, trapping the sound before it could emerge. A layer of invisible ice formed over his perspiration, conjuring a chill. He fought the shiver, failed. As it tumbled, the gallop of his pulse slowed and the reassuring crash of the Pacific Ocean beyond the bedroom’s open windows reached his ears. He choked down a dry swallow, licked his lips, tasted ass.
“You okay, dude?” asked the younger man on the other side of the bed, confirming what the dream—the nightmare—had attempted to show him, right before shorting out.
Hutch exhaled before answering, expelling the bottled breath that contained the silenced shout. “Yeah,” he lied.
Then he pulled back the covers and slipped out of bed.
Long minutes later, Rio joined him in the darkness of the unlit patio. “Nerves?”
“Something like that. Ghosts.”
On his way out of the beach shack, Hutch had somehow managed to pull on his boxer-briefs; the same pair, dark gray, he’d worn leading up to the previous night’s sweaty bedroom games. Rio had skipped that part and sat naked on the bench beside him, his uncut dick up again, flouncing between spread legs. The urge to reach out and grope it tempted Hutch: to roll his thumb in firm, short circles across its throat while tickling the meaty nuts beneath. In short time that summer, each man had learned where the other got off on being touched.
A hypnotic soundtrack of waves crashing onto beach drifted in the background. Rio set a hand on Hutch’s right knee and caressed the length of hairy leg above it: one of those places Hutch liked to be touched. Loved.